


I'll Keep Watch

by Tenoko1



Series: Good Omens Prompt Fics [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caregiving, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sleepy Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), naps, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenoko1/pseuds/Tenoko1
Summary: If Crowley had any pattern of behaviour, he tended to want to sleep as a way of coping with-- or avoiding-- things he didn’t know how to deal with





	I'll Keep Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katiegangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiegangel/gifts).

> For gabrielsangel44 (Happy Birthday), who asked for a fluffy fic of Aziraphale taking care of Crowley while in snake form.

If Crowley had any pattern of behaviour, he tended to want to sleep as a way of coping with-- or avoiding-- things he didn’t know how to deal with.

Accommodation for the Spanish Inquisition? Crowley got PLASTERED and then went to bed.

He and Aziraphale had an argument over holy water and basically ended their Arrangement? Crowley slept for nearly a century-- then got up and immediately set about saving the angel from Nazis and acting like their last interaction hadn’t been a devastating fight.

He’d thought he’d lost Aziraphale? Well, he’d probably have gone the same way as he did with the Spanish Inquisition, except without the nap because he was going to drink himself stupid until the world was destroyed-- which would have been soon, anyway.

Having spent the last eleven years anticipating and trying to avoid the End of the World-- only succeeding by sheer chance and through the love and friendship of children and well-meaning parents? Always on high alert and twitchy with the expectation of Heaven and Hell’s retribution-- and then actually surviving? Crowley was thoroughly exhausted.

Adrenaline crash. Energy-saving Mode. Plug him in to charge, he was done.

It didn’t help it was getting colder.

Part of it was just Crowley, and a smaller portion was the serpentine nature he generally ignored.

“Angel,” he murmured, staggering past Aziraphale to collapse in a dramatic sprawl on the sofa. “I need a nap. A good, long nap.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Would you like me to fix you some tea? You do look dreadful, you poor thing. I suppose you’ll need me to look after your plants? When do I need to wake you? A year? A decade? Please don’t sleep for a century again, dear, I miss you dreadfully when you take these naps, but I know you need them.”

Crowley melted and solidified, long serpentine form drawing up into a large mass of coils. “Do you mind if I just… rest here? I don’t feel safe enough to be asleep on my own yet.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale assured, voice soft as he retrieved the throw from over the sofa and tucked it around Crowley, who was already mostly asleep. “Take the time you need, dear. I’ll be right here.”

It didn’t take more than that assurance for Crowley to slip into the warmth and comfort of sleep.

Of course, Aziraphale still had a shop to run.

While letting Crowley sleep in the backroom was one thing, Aziraphale had promised to look after him while his guard was down.

It only made sense for Aziraphale to move his reading chair closer to the fireplace and to place a large dog bed beside it so that Crowley could sleep comfortably, Aziraphale could be nearby, and he could still manage the shop on his ever eccentric schedule.

“Oh,” a woman said, tone surprised but curious. Aziraphale paused in shelving books to smile in polite inquiry, brows raised. “You have a friend.”

He followed the nod of her head to where Crowley lay on his bed in an elaborate knot of coils and scales.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “I suppose a large snake can be rather startling without warning. He’s recovering, the poor thing.”

Though, if having Crowley in the shop might drive more customers away from his first editions, all the better. Aziraphale had no problem with customers who bought from his newer selection of novels.

She clicked her tongue, features soft as she considered the sleeping demon. “That’s too bad. Is he sick?”

“Uh… more, er, rescued from, uh, extended exposure to stressful and traumatic circumstances?”

Yes, that was a good way of putting it.

She made a face. “Circus, huh? Those are just cruel.” A smile spread across her features, eyes on the serpent. “Well, I’m glad he has you to make sure he’s safe and happy.”

He grinned at her, stepping toward the till so she could make her purchase. “I will do my utmost,” he promised.

Sometimes, though still very asleep, Crowley would get restless.

He would wriggle and slither and then fall still, occasionally hissing and baring his fangs.

Slithering was one thing. Aziraphale would just rearrange him so he wasn’t half on the floor and flopped over.

When Crowley got irritated and aggressive in his sleep, Aziraphale would close the shop if he hadn’t already, and then arrange the sofa with pillows and blankets and a table for his tea, before gathering up Crowley in arms, “Come along, then. Let’s go rest in here, shall we?” and Aziraphale would lay propped against the pillows with Crowley’s long body stretched out beside him under the blanket, head resting on Aziraphale’s chest and the angel idly stroked his fingers over Crowley’s scales.

Though he was rare to use it, Aziraphale owned a tablet for just such occasions.

And if, while comfortable and at home, Aziraphale nodded off, he and Crowley taking a bit of a nap together, well... he could admit he probably needed the rest.

Taking care of Crowley’s affairs while he was asleep was another matter.

His plants were easy enough. Aziraphale could just snap his fingers, and he and Crowley would relocate to the demon’s flat. Aziraphale had sun lamps for the plants and Crowley. Two birds, one stone.

The demon had made him detailed instructions, once, regarding the care and treatment of the plants that Aziraphale felt had a lot of horrific implications about what happened to plants that did not measure up.

Water mister in hand, Aziraphale made his way around the room, murmuring to the variety of plants and complimenting their diverse attributes.

“Poor things,” he tutted. “I am sorry Crowley’s put you through this. Our traumas never really leave us, do they? He keeps punishing himself; re-enacting the unfair standards and treatment he suffered. Bit of a cycle, really. Create a garden and beings to occupy it, give them choices and free thought, and when they inevitably prove they were not designed to be perfect-- destroy them or cast them out.” He paused, gaze drifting over his shoulder with a pang of longing and regret. Crowley was mostly hidden beneath a blanket, fast asleep and peaceful looking. “I hope you can forgive him. I hope, one day, he learns to forgive himself. ...I hope to understand God’s reasons. I hope one day I can forgive, as well.”

He jerked out of his musings when a bonsai tree bumped his hand with its leaves like a cat with its head. Smiling, he gave it an affectionate pat. It preened under the attention. Aziraphale clapped his hands together, casting his gaze about. “Now! I do believe the shop could use a dash of colour. I don’t suppose any of you might want to come back with us, would you?”

Pastel flowers blossomed from the cacti, and the succulents bloomed in a rainbow of colour.

His smile grew, soft and warm.

As far as Crowley’s dealings went, Aziraphale left the financial parts and paperwork to the accountants and lawyers. The face-to-face portion of business, well… that Azriraphale _could _do.

He sat behind Crowley’s desk in the ornate throne, wearing his most effective in-charge and intolerant air. It was rather dark, actually. Criminal. A persona he’d slipped into so many times through the millennia that it was as familiar as an old coat.

It fit easily. As though there were more anger and violence under his skin than he liked to admit. It was these moments-- when the lid on that particular box was pulled back just enough to let some of that darkness out-- that he was forced to acknowledge its existence.

“Mr. Fell,” greeted the man wearing a tailored suit that did nothing for his bulking frame. “Been a while.”

Aziraphale lifted a brow at his familiarity, and then a memory flitted back to him like a tiny bird dancing across a wire. A smile, more cutting than a knife’s edge, spread across his features. “Mr. Boris. You and your associates tried to convince me to sell my ‘very flammable’ bookshop.”

“I wasn’t aware you were an acquaintance of Mr. Crowley’s,” he said, hat comically small in his ham-handed fingers. “We came to speak with him about some business.”

“And I speak for him,” Aziraphale cut in, head rolling to the side, “therefore, your business is with me.” Crowley stirred, slithering and coiling himself into a more comfortable position. Aziraphale reached down, smoothing his fingers down his spine. Their eyes tracked his movements. “I suggest you make it quick.”

They did, indeed, make it quick.

Their business-- or more accurately, _Crowley’s _business-- was in Soho, as it turned out. Buying out business owners-- at a fraction of what they were worth-- to transform the shops into strip clubs and adult entertainment stores.

Aziraphale had countered, with no room for argument, that the adult store be presented as a _boutique, _‘Marketing, gentlemen. _Marketing_. Do you want to stay in business or not,’ and that the other stores be rented out to the sort of indie shops that sold things like skincare and bath products. ‘The type of clientele you bring in and _property value_ go hand-in-hand. Do I have to explain _everything_?’

And when they’d gone, Aziraphale had snapped his fingers, making a charming wicker basket and blanket appear on the desk surface.

Aziraphale shrunk Crowley in size as he knelt, scooping the serpent up and settling him into the warmth of the basket. “I think this calls for a celebratory trip to the tea shop and bakery, don’t you, dear?”

It was snowing the day Crowley finally stirred.

The Christmas tree was still up, as was the garland Aziraphale had decorated the shop with.

He’d made tiny, faux presents to place around the cacti and succulents in the shop, decorating each of them with glittering thread like they were tiny Christmas trees and garland. ‘Now, don’t you look fetching!’

The sign on the door informed passersby that the shop would be closed until after the beginning of the new year-- though he didn’t specify which calendar he was basing that off of.

Aziraphale and Crowley were on the sofa in the backroom again. Aziraphale had no need to worry about opening the shop, so there was no reason not to get comfortable for the long haul.

When Crowley stirred, he did so by slowly shifting to his human form, still wedged between Aziraphale and the back of the sofa-- easily made large enough to accommodate both of them. Crowley’s arm was slung across Aziraphale’s waist, his head resting on the angel’s chest.

Aziraphale set down his tablet with a curious head tilt; the fingers he’d been trailing over scales now brushed through Crowley’s red hair. “Are you awake?”

“No,” came the mumbled reply, rubbing his cheek against Aziraphale’s sweater before settling down again.

When Crowley drew in a deep breath-- fast asleep and smiling-- Aziraphale tugged the blanket up around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll be here when you wake up, then. We’ll have tea.”

Then, Aziraphale picked up his book and went back to reading, fingers of his free hand in Crowley’s hair.

END


End file.
